


They don't call him "Sick Boy" for nothing

by whydoihavethiskink



Category: Trainspotting (Movies), Trainspotting Series - Irvine Welsh
Genre: Alternate Universe - America, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Defecation During Sex, Desperation, Diarrhea, Drug Use, Emetophilia, Food Poisoning, M/M, Omorashi, Period-Typical Homophobia, Puke Jobs, Rough Sex, Scat, Scat Sex, Sickfic, Soiling, Urination, Vomiting, both ends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:35:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25945966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whydoihavethiskink/pseuds/whydoihavethiskink
Summary: Mark gets food poisoning. Simon gets off on it. (American AU because I can't write Scottish accents. Nothing else changes.) Please read the tags!
Relationships: Mark "Rent Boy" Renton/Simon "Sick Boy" Williamson
Comments: 9
Kudos: 47





	They don't call him "Sick Boy" for nothing

**Author's Note:**

> Special request by anon! Prompt: “Stomach flu symptoms, emeto stuff, shitting during sex and diarrhea. Maybe sex while the bottom has the stomach flu, preface the sex with a ‘sick from both ends’ desperation scene? I’m pretty much happy with all that as long as its all consensual and both characters are enjoying it.”

“Bleeurgggggh!” Mark was throwing up in a barside alley. That itself was not unusual. What _was_ unusual was he couldn’t remember having that much to drink. Soon he was just drooling spit as he retched, all his beer splattered on the cracked pavement and his boots.

“Time to call it a night?” Simon slurred, waving his cigarette as he wobbled for balance. They were so fucked up. Drink on top of junk hit double hard.

“Yeah,” said Mark, wiping his mouth. “Don’ feel so good.”

“Gotta get some food in ya. It’ll soak up the drink.”

“Yeah.”

A fish-n-chips shack was still open, no doubt making bank on drunks doing just what Mark and Simon were. They didn’t have fish money left after scoring, so it was just chips. The smell of frying oil turned Mark’s stomach, but it was supposed to help, so he forced them down, one greasy, starchy, undercooked chip at a time.

It was two miles to Simon’s flat. They’d started out the night at the local, but then they’d gone and scored, and then hitched a ride to this cool new club in the opposite direction of home, and then someone’s girlfriend and her hot friend were supposed to be at this other bar (they weren’t), and now the last bus had gone off to wherever busses go when they’re not running, and they were stuck walking home. Or stealing a car, but they were both much too fucked up to hotwire anything. At least they were also too fucked up to feel their feet hurting.

Still a mile from the flat, Mark felt his bowels churn. Burning liquid suddenly filled his rectum. “Fuck, Simon, I gotta shit.”

“Find an alley.”

There was one a couple blocks away. Mark shuffled into it, ass clenched, preparing to squat down behind a dumpster. Suddenly, though, a police car drove across the entrance to the alley, reversed back to look down it, and rolled down its passenger side window.

“Yah faggots better not be fuckin back there!”

“We aint fuckin! And we aint faggots!” yelled Simon, too fucked up to remember that yelling at cops was a bad idea.

Mark, who had sobered up a bit between puking up all his beer and eating a lot of chips, thought fast. “Someone threw out a chair. We were gonna take it home, I mean free chair, but it’s actually busted.” His bowels, denied relief, were now in actual pain, his colon cramping in an effort to push out his shit while his ring stayed tight with all the force of will he possessed.

The cop must’ve decided it was too cold to keep the window rolled down. “Ugh. Fine. Move along before I decide to pick you up for loitering.”

“Yessir!” said both men. The cop idled in front of the alley, expectantly. No help for it. Mark and Simon exited the alley, walking down the open sidewalk. The engine revved as the cop drove off.

Mark bent double and clutched his stomach. His bowels felt like they were about to explode. “Oh, fuck, Simon, I’m gonna shit myself.”

“C’mon now buddy, hang on, you can make it home.”

“O-okay.” Biting his lip, Mark straightened up and put one foot in front of the other, forcing himself to clench only his anus and not his entire butt. He could do it. Junk slowed your digestion, he could hold his shit forever.

He kept telling himself that, anyway. Every step of the way, his bowels gurgled and groaned. He could feel the liquid shit sloshing around inside him, desperately trying to get out. To make matters worse, his nausea had returned, and the chips kept threatening to come back up, their powdery greasiness lurking in the back of his throat.

“Simon?” Mark asked.

“Yeah?”

“I don’ think I’m just drunk.”

“Huh?”

“Think I ate somethin’ bad. Those Chinese food leftovers….” He gagged, barely managing not to bring anything up. Just the thought of orange chicken doubled his nausea.

“Which Chinese food leftovers?”

“They were on the counter. I was hungry.”

“Christ, Mark, those were two weeks old. I got them out to throw them out. Then I had to take out the trash because they wouldn’t fit in the bin, and when I came back they were gone.”

“Damn. That’d do it. Thought it was from last night. I know Begbie was on the phone ordering something.”

“That was pizza.”

“Feckin creep didn’t save me any. Oh, fuck, I’ve got the runs so bad, I’m gonna shit my pants.” Mark massaged his aching belly.

“Hey, hey now, it’s only two more blocks!”

“Fuck. Okay. I’mma try.” His stomach gurgled ominously.

Those two blocks seemed like the longest of Mark’s life. The sight of the apartment building, with its promise of toilets, taunted him and threatened to trick his ring into opening. He shuffled along, belly gurgling, both hands holding onto the seat of his pants, not caring who saw him. Even if the cop came back, all he’d have to do was threaten “I have explosive diarrhea” and he could probably get away with murder; no cop wanted that in his car!

At last they made it inside the building and up the stairs to Simon’s flat. Mark writhed in agony, holding his ass with one hand and his mouth with the other, as a very drunk Simon fumbled with his keys, trying to unlock the door. All he could think about was releasing his inflamed bowels into a toilet. Finally Simon got the door unlocked and Mark rushed inside, clenching for dear life, running for the bathroom.

The door was stuck. Mark wailed in despair. Everyone knew not to shut the damn thing all the way! It was nearly impossible to open again. However, Mark’s diarrhea could not be denied any longer. His sphincter gave out, his intestines convulsed, and he released a burning flood of liquid shit into his jeans as he sobbed in defeat and frustration. The diarrhea soaked through the fabric, staining it brown. There seemed to be no end to it.

Simon was watching. And that sick bastard was smiling.

“You just couldn’t hold it, could you?” he said, mockingly. “I had a feeling you wouldn’t make it.” He licked his lips, eyeing the growing brown stain on the back of Mark’s jeans. “How’s it feel to be shitting your pants like a little baby?”

Mark groaned, dropping to his knees, and blarted more sludgy liquid into his jeans. “Oh, fuck, Simon, I’m so fucking sick.” He leaned forward on his hands, gagging, as the stench of his rotten-food shit hit him. “Fuck, I’m gonna throw up.”

“Fuckin do it,” said Simon. “What’s a bit more mess, anyway?”

It wasn’t like Mark had a choice about it. Before Simon even finished speaking, he was already puking up a chunky stream of undigested chips, bitter and greasy. With the force of his heaving, his bowels shot even more liquid diarrhea into his pants, the stream briefly spurting out of the seat.

“Fuck,” breathed Simon. Mark looked up, eyes streaming, and saw that Simon was openly palming himself through his jeans.

Well, the gang didn’t call him “Sick Boy” for nothing. “Weren’t you just yelling about not being a faggot?” Mark rasped.

“A hole’s a hole, and I’m drunk. And you’re giving me quite a show.” Simon licked his lips. “What about I help you bring those chips back up?”

Mark groaned, holding his stomach as his bowels released another wave of brown liquid into his already-drenched jeans. It was pointless to try to hold it in, since he’d already stained his pants and left a massive puddle on the floor. He just wanted to get everything out so his misery would end. “Sure,” he told Simon.

Simon smiled and unzipped his pants, pulling out his cock. Despite the score earlier, he was rock-hard. The sight before him must have really turned him on. “I’m gonna make you puke on my cock,” he told Mark.

Then he shoved his cock down Mark’s vomit-raw throat.

Mark gagged instantly. He’d sucked cock for dope before, no such thing as straight when you needed a fix, but now his throat was sore from all that stomach acid. More bile surged up, swirling around the head of Simon’s cock, and for a moment, Mark was afraid he’d drown in it, choking on his own vomit. But then it spilled out of the corners of his mouth, dribbling around Simon’s shaft, coating Simon’s pubes with a layer of filth. Above him, Simon moaned, and Mark was pretty sure that if it weren’t for the junk, Simon would have shot his load right there. He thrust in deeper, just as Mark puked again, and the pressure of the liquid forced him off Simon’s cock, coughing and spilling a waterfall of vomit all over Simon’s pants and shoes.

“Fuck you,” snarled Simon. “I was so close. If this isn’t going to work, I’ll have to use your ass instead. Doesn’t look like it’ll be too tight, at least. Can’t hold your shit in.”

“Want me to shit on your dick?” said Mark, looking up at Simon. “Because—ohhhh—” he groaned, holding his stomach, “if you put it in soon enough I’m gonna.”

“Awesome,” said Simon, stroking himself. “Get your pants off.”

Mark fumbled with his soaked pants, pulling them down to his knees. The crotch of his underwear was filled with black-brown puddingish sludge, and the filthy slime had even coated his cock and balls. He was utterly dirty and disgusting—and Simon seemed to be getting off on every bit of it. He forced Mark to his hands and knees, lined himself up with Mark’s diarrhea-smeared hole, and shoved in.

It burned. He was raw from the diarrhea, unstretched, and Simon had gone in without any lube except Mark’s own liquid shit. His belly cramped in response to the insult, building up enormous, painful liquid pressure in his guts, and then spraying out watery diarrhea around Simon’s cock.

“Oh, fuck, do that again,” gasped Simon, a wave of pleasure tingling through him as Mark’s liquid excrement coated his crotch on top of its previous coat of vomit. “Shit all over my cock. Really make a mess. I’m gonna fuck you until you shit, puke, and cum at the same time.” He thrust in harder to prove his point, and the force jarred Mark’s stomach. Mark puked again, stinking filth joining the growing puddle of mingled, stinking filths, falling from his lax, suck-swollen lips in a chunky cascade. Simon moaned in delight, and kept on giving Mark those deep, jarring, nauseating thrusts.

Mark felt another wave of shit distending his guts, swiftly traveling towards his rectum. The cramps from his inflamed intestines were nearly unbearable, even before the liquid shit hit the blockage Simon’s cock presented. The pain forced his arms to collapse as he struggled to rid himself of the toxic waste, desperately trying to shit it out. His cheek landed in a puddle of his own vomit, but he didn’t care, completely overwhelmed with the need to expel his burning shit.

Bearing down like that only opened him wider for Simon’s assault; in turn, Simon thrust in deeper. Simon was more turned on than he’d ever been in his life, but the junk was making it difficult to actually finish. Otherwise, he’d have spurted jizz in his underwear the moment Mark had spurted diarrhea into his. Seeing someone lose control of their entire body like that, puking _and shitting_ everywhere with abandon, genuinely sick and not just drunk, made him higher than heroin ever could. He felt more of Mark’s diarrhea building up against his cock, trying to force itself up his piss slit, and Mark’s ass straining as he tried to shit around him, and he buried himself so deep he thought his balls would slip inside, savoring the pressure.

Pretty much by accident, he ended up hitting Mark’s prostate.

Mark gasped as the unexpected shock of pleasure jarred through him. He was…getting off on this? Between the heroin and the amount of pain he was in from his upset stomach, he hadn’t thought it would be possible. He’d said ‘yes’ to Simon mostly because it would help him bring up the chips faster. That, and he secretly liked how Simon had been looking at him like that, the raw lust in his eyes, even or especially because he himself felt totally disgusting.

But now Simon was ramming him in the good spot, trying to force his own heroin-numbed cock to squirt, and each thrust sent another spike of pleasure up Mark’s spine. Maybe the copious purging was getting the score out of his system faster. Maybe the rawness of his ass after squirting out a gallon of acid diarrhea was enough to offset the numbness, and if he were sober he’d be in tremendous pain. Honestly, he wasn’t sure he was even hard, but he thought he might be able to cum like this, if Simon lasted long enough.

The growing pleasure suddenly rolled into a wave of nausea. The combined sensation was some sublime level of erotic hell. Mark had had to read _The Inferno_ in school, once, and there was a part where some sinners had to spend eternity wading around in a pool of shit. Swap the demons for dominatrixes—or a particularly whacked-in-the-head fellow heroin addict—and that was about where Mark was at right now. Ecstasy tingled in his cock and nipples as pain wracked his insides, as his body convulsed, desperate to expel everything within it: cum, vomit, shit, piss. Yep…that was a pool of clearer liquid slowly spreading through the puddle of filth. Between the heaving and Simon’s thrusts against his prostate and bladder, he’d been completely powerless to hold his piss in. Not that it mattered. He’d already lost control in much messier and more humiliating ways tonight. What was one more? And it felt so good to let go, to give into his body’s urges, to just get rid of everything it wanted to get out of him.

But Simon’s cock was plugging up one exit, forcing his caustic shit to build up inside him, as if he had a huge log of hard shit blocking him up though he’d taken a megadose of laxative—and if the shitlog was also fucking him like some kind of mechanized sex demon. The roiling in his guts built exponentially, driving pain, nausea, and pleasure higher, until with a gigantic, climactic cramp, Mark forced a bowel-load of diarrhea out _around_ the invader, necessity stretching his hole wider than he’d ever thought possible. The relief to his distended guts, combined with the immense pressure of the shit forced over his prostate, was a pleasure beyond human description. For a moment, as his vision went white, Mark wondered if he had actually died, if this was some heroin overdose dream and he’d finally gotten to where he stopped breathing. And then he felt a new kind of clenching in his core, something separate from intestinal cramps, and his body relaxed and his ears started ringing, and Mark realized that he’d just had the best orgasm of his life, while lying in a puddle of his own shit, piss, and vomit, completely stoned and sick as a dog with food poisoning.

And then, as Simon pounded his prostate into a series of aftershocks (his rhythm breaking down, maybe finally having pushed himself over the edge), his guts cramped once more, their illness far from over, and Mark vomited again.

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked this and want more of these kinks, check out my [Discord Server](https://discord.gg/h6DYxDY)! We're pretty chill.
> 
> Comments are always appreciated!


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